


time travel is not our friend (but you were mine)

by KiwiBerry



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Endgame Who? Don't Know Her, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Time Travel, Tony Stark is sad and time travel does not make it better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 22:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20682707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiBerry/pseuds/KiwiBerry
Summary: Tony likes to touch things that aren't his. Time travel is a relatively new side effect.





	time travel is not our friend (but you were mine)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y'all! This was my fill for the MCU Stony POTS Server Hurt/Comfort Bingo. Prompt was Lost in Space/Time and naturally I kind of did both? Anywho, thanks to the three lovely betas who volunteered to read over this before submitting: betheflame, peculiva, and NepetaKitty! They're honestly the best. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Tony should have known better. 

Curiosity had always been his weakness, his Achilles heel composed of science, technology, and reason. It was almost impossible for him to be presented with something foreign and powerful and not crave what lay beneath; its secrets to be exposed and rebuilt under his own two hands. So when Stephen Strange had asked him to temporarily house a cracked time stone that kept ripping holes in reality, well, he really couldn’t be blamed for touching the damn thing, now could he? 

When he’d poked the stone with a piece of scrap metal left in his pocket, he hadn’t expected the thing to glow so fucking bright, his head pounding like his brain was banging around freely in the Iron Man suit. He also hadn’t expected to end up on the streets of New York, vacant except for the Chitauri running rampant while the Avengers scurried after them. 

“Holy shit,” Tony said aloud, backing up until he hit the glass storefront of some shop, eyes darting up and down the street. Chitauri sped by overhead on their weird hover bikes, and he caught sight of familiar red, white, and blue coming his way. The clang of metal meeting flesh followed. 

Tony watched in awe as Steve took out two speeding Chitauri mid-air before catching the shield to reflect a blast from behind. A jet like sound filled the street and Tony looked up to see the Iron Man suit descending, blasting Chitauri as it did. 

The two fell into an easy moment of combat, and Tony realized he’d forgotten how natural it had been to fight by Steve’s side then. They’d practically fallen into immediate sync with each other’s style, and that familiarity had only grown from there. He found himself smiling fondly. 

He heard the thing before he saw it--the telltale sound of mechanical failure and alien screeching crashing to the ground before him, shoving him back with enough force to send him crashing through the glass at his back. He closed his eyes, bracing for impact, but instead of landing in glass or various furniture, he’d landed on a bed of all things. The force of the fall unfortunately propelled him just as quickly off of it, and he landed uncomfortably on a hardwood floor. 

Standing, Tony looked around. It was a quaint bedroom, modestly furnished and smelling impossibly of rustic domesticity. Voices from behind led him to the closest window. 

The quinjet was parked on a large front lawn, and he was just able to catch the last of the Avengers entering the Barton farmhouse. 

“Fucking hell,” Tony breathed, running a hand over his face. _Okay, breathe, Stark. Look at the facts._ For starters, he had touched the time stone. It was kind of broken. Strange said it had been tearing at reality, but Tony didn’t really know what that meant. Was it destroying their reality? No, everything still seemed to be in place. Perhaps opening portals to other worlds? So far he’d only been on Earth. And this wasn’t the future. It felt more like memories at this point, like he was reliving his past... 

“Time travel.” The words sent a thrill of excitement through Tony’s body, and he couldn’t hide his grin as he reached for his phone. He needed to take notes, document his experience. He’d share them with Bruce, later. After Strange got him back to-- 

Tony frowned mid-thought, hand resting on something much bulkier than his Starkphone. He looked at the silver mound in his hand, the small screen on top displaying only the time, and any excitement he felt instantly vanished. 

_Right_, he contended, pocketing the phone before he could linger on it too long. 

The slam of a screen door brought him back to the window. Tony watched as Steve got a few steps from the porch before hesitating. He turned around, looking back at the Barton home, and while Tony couldn’t see his face he thought the man looked…sad? He didn’t remember Steve leaving back then, having been sucked in by Clint and his secret wife and kids and the fucking domesticity of it all hidden right under their noses. 

For a moment, he considered calling out to Steve, asking if he was alright. But in the next he scolded himself for being so soft. _Don’t be a fool, Stark. You’ve been down this road before._

The sound of footsteps on the stairs pulled him from the window and across the room. Was it bad for people to see him? Could they see him? Would he change the future if they did? His mind was only able to conjure up half-assed Hollywood time travel rules, and he couldn’t be sure of what to bet on. He located the room’s closet instead and threw himself inside. 

He stumbled stupidly upon entry, half twisting in an attempt to close the door behind him as he went, but instead of being shoved into a wall or rack of hangers, he was in the middle of the kitchen of the Avengers Compound. He turned around once, and then again, before he realized there was no closet in sight. No door he’d come in through. Running a hand through his hair, he moved around the island bar slowly, listening for footsteps or voices. But none came, and only then did he notice the sun was already setting. 

_How long have I been gone?_ He wasn’t sure if time in the present passed differently while traveling through time. He’d hoped it hadn’t been long. And if it had been, Strange would surely have come looking for him by now, right? 

The sound of glass breaking startled him as he entered a nearby hall. It was followed by a few curses and then silence. Moving closer, Tony took note of a familiar door. The silver nameplate next to it read **Rogers, Steven**, and he felt his chest tighten. 

_So this is after that, huh? Makes sense._

Tony tried not to remember, but the shattering glass and half growled curses had brought it all back. He’d lost everything that day. Everyone. Well, he’d still had Rhodey. Pepper and Bruce. Yet, for some reason, it hadn’t felt like enough. 

He’d hated himself then for being so weak, for allowing himself to crumble so easily onto the floor of a man who thought so little of him. Allowed himself to drink until he couldn’t feel the bruises or see the desperate anger in those bright, blue eyes. 

It wasn’t a good memory and Tony wished himself anywhere but there. 

His next breath came out like a puff of smoke, and a sharp chill rushed over him. He felt wind picking up, and turned around in time to see snow falling quietly around him. The compound was gone, likely thousands of miles from where he was, and in its place was a door, large and obvious against the rocky, snow covered tundra. He only hesitated a moment before going inside. 

The sound of fighting was far off, yet Tony’s feet seemed to guide him by memory. He ignored the rubble in the round room, the dead soldiers behind broken glass. God, he could feel his heart racing as he got closer, could hear the clang of metal against metal, the sound of repulsors firing short, quick bursts. God, he hated it. He hated it _so much_. 

He hesitated at the concrete drop, eyes wide as he watched. 

The familiarity of it all hurt more than he’d imagined. He was there, they all were. Flashes of blue and red and black, hands throwing punches, bodies dodging, the shield whizzing off of walls and armor, calculated blasts fired in self-defense and anger. 

He’d been so reckless at the time: reactor uncontrolled and repulsors firing without thinking. He’d been so angry, so heartbroken, so grief-stricken he hadn’t been thinking straight. He had wanted Bucky to die, and he’d been willing to take out Captain America to do so. 

Bucky was crowding him against the wall now, tearing at his reactor as he screamed something unintelligible, and Tony remembered panicking, anger and fear raging, the voice in his suit too loud— 

“Stop,” Tony heard himself say out loud, an outstretched hand reaching for them, grasping for some control over the situation. “Stop it,” he said even louder, this time moving to drop down the concrete curve. God, he wanted to run over and shake himself. Couldn’t he see what he was doing? He was going to destroy everything. He was so close to ruining one of the only good things in his life-- “Stop!” 

His final yell was barely audible over Bucky’s scream as his arm was blasted off, sending him halfway across the floor, dazed and most likely concussed. Some probable nerve damage. Just looking at the arm, seeing the way it had moved, Tony knew it had been linked to blood and tissue, that it could feel and hurt just like the rest of him. 

Iron Man’s faceplate turned his way, and for a moment Tony wondered if he’d heard him, if he could see himself standing to the side, desperate and broken and warning him to stop while he could, to stop breaking everything they’d worked so hard to achieve. 

But in that small moment, Steve had run at him, shield held high as he aimed it at the suit. Iron Man raised both hands instinctively and let lose a too loud blast. It had been practically pointblank, gauntlets closely pressed against Steve’s chest before firing, and it had sent him flying across the room. He crashed into the far wall with a sickening crack, before he slumped to the floor. Tony could see the front of his uniform burnt black, singed and bloodied skin underneath. 

_No_, Tony thought, every part of him frozen in fear, throat unable to say something, say anything. _This wasn’t how it had happened. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen_\--

“Steve?” He heard himself say, voice gargled from inside the suit, communication system barely hanging on. 

Bucky rolled over on the floor, half-conscious, hazy eyes darting from Steve to Tony, before flashing to rage. “You killed him,” he said, voice cracked and rough, and sparks lit on his arm as he scraped the broken end across the floor, trying to stand. “You fucking killed him.” When he stumbled, face hitting the floor, a small laugh left him, incredulous and a bit crazed. “You’re a murderer.” _Just like me_.

Tony turned away, crouching down, curling in on himself. _No, no, no_. This couldn’t be happening. Had he changed the timeline? Created a new one? Would Steve still be alive when he got back? Would he be? He felt like he was spiraling, falling further and further into god knows where. _This is all wrong, everything is wrong_\-- 

He felt the phone press against his leg as he shifted, the fear and guilt now clawing their way up his throat. He pulled it out, unthinking, and flipped it open. He wanted to call Steve, needed to call him, and make sure he was okay, that he was alive and that it wasn’t Tony’s fault if he wasn’t. But the screen was black, no sign of life as he clicked at the numbers, closed and reopened it again and again. _Why wasn’t it working?_

Panic overwhelmed him, and he closed his eyes again. But all he could see was Steve, bloodied and still. Himself broken and lost inside the compound. God, he wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to New York, or to the tower. He so desperately wanted to be anywhere but where he was. 

The sound of rushing wind and monstrous engines got him to open his eyes, and suddenly he was on a helicarrier staring into open sky as he watched Steve work at a panel in the wall, talking to Iron Man over the comms. But then he blinked and he was in Sokovia, watching Thor and Steve battle an army of robots while they herded civilians onto rescue ships. 

God, what was happening? It felt like the world was bending beneath him, moments of his life flashing before him, scenery morphing from one place into the next. He was battling Bruce in Johannesburg. Recruiting Peter for Germany. Throwing a party in the tower, Steve smiling soft and easy as Tony teased him over his glass. The sounds of it all were growing louder, the fighting and screams rapidly overwhelming everything else. 

_Did you know? _

_We’ll lose. _

_Did we win? _

_You weren’t there_

It all seemed to stop, time finally slowing, as he watched a frail, sickly version of himself press his reactor into Steve’s hand before collapsing. He didn’t remember doing that, couldn’t recall the words that had come out of his mouth only moments before. 

_No trust, liar_.

Tony felt his breath leave him, and he slumped forward, weak and shaking. He was met with cool, thick glass, and he let the feeling sink deep into his skin, grounding him, before pulling away. It was a window of sort, large and unobscured, looking out into the night. No. He pressed forward, squinting into the glass. No, it wasn’t night. It was— 

“I’m in fucking space,” he breathed, incredulous, and slowly sank down to the floor, knees pulled up as he pressed his head into his hands. “Fucking space.” This wasn’t real, couldn’t be real. He’d never actually been to space before. Not unless those few moments in New York counted. 

God, was he even time traveling anymore? Or was he just fucking everything up? Had he changed the timeline? Entered an alternate universe? His head ached with the possibilities, and he pulled at his hair. “Get a grip, Stark. Just think. Take in your surroundings. There has to be something here—“ 

He wasn’t alone. 

He hadn’t noticed the figure curled up across the way, shadowed and still. In the starlight he could barely see the face, but the blue glow of the reactor stood out, so dull it was almost grey. Tony didn’t know how, but he knew if he reached out he wouldn’t be able to find a pulse, an exhale of air. 

Somehow, he knew the Tony Stark across from him wasn’t breathing. 

Tony closed his eyes against the thought, burying his face into crossed arms as he pulled his knees tightly to his chest. This couldn’t be real. None of this was. How could it be? He wasn’t dead. Steve wasn’t dead. This was all a lie, a trick. He wanted to go home, to his own time. He needed to go back. He had to go back. 

_There you are._

The voice was loud inside Tony’s head, and he thought he saw bright orange sparks before feeling like the floor had been yanked out from under him. It felt like he’d been falling, but he never landed. Instead he awoke inside his lab with Strange kneeling over him, concerned. 

“Are you alright?” 

Tony opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t make any words come out. He sucked in a sharp breath, felt himself on the verge of hyperventilating, and realized he was crying. 

“Did you find him?” 

Tony’s entire body snapped to attention at the voice, and he looked up to see Steve only a few steps away from him, getting closer. He was dressed in a darker version of his Captain America suit, the one Fury had given him when he’d first joined Shield, and his cowl was off. His hair had gotten longer, and there was some scruff on his face, the start of a beard. Tony thought he looked absolutely perfect. 

“We should get him to medical,” another voice said, and Tony recognized it as Natasha’s. “Bruce is waiting downstairs. We don’t know what he—“ 

Tony found the strength to sit up, Strange’s hands guiding him as he did. When the room stopped spinning, he noticed Steve kneeling down beside him, one hand outstretched but hesitant. 

“Tony?” 

Tony couldn’t stop himself as he pulled Steve close enough to lean into, wasn’t content until he could feel the other against him, warm and alive and breathing._ God_. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. More tears fell from his eyes, but he didn’t care. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know…” 

Steve waited patiently, not speaking until Tony was finished. “What happened?” That was directed at Strange, he knew, so he ignored it and focused instead on Steve’s hands on his back, warm and solid and real. “Where did he go?” 

“I can’t say for sure. The Time Stone is complicated at best when it isn’t damaged, so I can’t know for sure where it took him or for how long.” He paused a moment, as if hesitant to continue. “I found him in the future. A future, if you will. Not necessarily ours, but an option nonetheless.” 

Tony thought that made sense. He pulled away from Steve, but remained unable to look away from those bright, blue eyes. They weren’t filled with rage anymore, only a lingering fondness Tony couldn’t allow himself to read into. Not anymore. “I think I changed something. In the past. I—“ 

Strange interrupted him before he could continue. “I can assure you all is well in this reality. However, there are infinite universes, infinite timelines outside of ours. As displeasing as they may be, they are not our responsibility to atone for.” 

Any other time, Tony would have argued, but there was no fight left in him. Right now, all he wanted to do was keep Steve close for as long as possible. “Okay,” he breathed, tearing his gaze from Steve’s. “Mind helping me up?” 

Steve did so wordlessly, hands a steadying presence on Tony’s shoulder and forearm, grip almost too tight. But then he let go, took a step back, away, and Tony found himself latching back on, grip desperate. 

“Tony?” Steve said, perfect and real, and god he wanted nothing more than to hear him say his name over and over again. 

“Sorry, I--” He didn’t have an excuse, couldn’t bother to think of one, but Steve didn’t seem to mind. He stepped back into Tony’s space with ease, radiating like some kind of spark had been rekindled in him. 

“It’s okay,” he said quietly, barely audible so Tony was sure only he could hear. “I’m okay. I’m here.” 

Steve reached a hand up to rest gently against Tony’s jaw, warm and gentle. Tony closed his eyes and tried his best not to lean into the touch. 

Someone cleared their throat, and Tony looked to Natasha now at his side. “Hate to break up the moment, but Bruce really needs to get you checked out. After that, you’re gonna need to rest.” 

Tony looked to Steve, a bit helpless, and Steve just smiled, dropping his hand to Tony’s bicep, squeezing firmly “Go. I’ll meet you down there.” 

Tony couldn’t stop himself from asking. “Promise? 

He couldn’t tell if Steve looked more inclined to laugh or cry. Maybe a little bit of both. 

“Promise.” Steve let him go then, but he knew it wouldn’t be forever. Temporary at best. 

Natasha maneuvered him easily through the lab, making sure he didn’t fall even as he turned one final glance over his shoulder. 

“Hey, Tony?” 

Tony faced forward, Natasha now guiding him by the hand. 

“We’re home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream about these two idiots with me over at daydreamjamesdean on tumblr :)


End file.
